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WYRTLE AND J^jRRH 



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AMEEN RmANI 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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Class _/^(?^3'^^0 
Book '.JL4A 



Gopyri^htl^^ l2Aii 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Myrtle and Myrrh 

by 

Ameen Rify^ni 

Translator of 
" The Quatrains of Ahn'l-Ala " 




Boston: Richard G. Badger 
The G or ham Press IQO^ 



Copyright 1905 by x\meen Rihani 
All rights reserved 



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Printed at 

The Gorham Press, 

Boston, U. S. A. 



■V. 



^ i To my sisters 

^. I SAADA AND ADELE 



■a 



SALAAM 

From Syria to America 

Pardon, dear reader. 

The stranger at thy gate, haihng from the 
Orient, holds out to thee a gaunt and tatooed 
hand. This hand has often made mud-pies from 
earth that might have once mapped out the 
stars ; or, in a drunken vision, heard the grum- 
bhngs of a god and made of them a captivating 
creed : the brain of an ancient Assyrian astron- 
omer ; the spine of a Semitic sage ; the cheeks 
of a Jezebel or a St. Takla ; the heart of a slave 
that added beauty and horror to the chariot of 
a Babylonian king or a Roman conqueror : — 
any or all of these might have besmeared this 
hand. 

Wilt thou take it ? The hand of a personified 
illusion, of an exiled dream, of an Oriental who 
makes himself thy guest. 

He comes not to preach Buddhism to thee ; 
nor Mohammedanism ; nor Babyism ; nor any 
other ism made picturesque and alluring by red 
caftans, white turbans, blue sashes and amber- 
gris-scented lies. 

The only message he brings from his vine- 
crowned and pine-girdled Mother to bewitch- 
ing and enriching America is that of love 
and longing and lacrimal. He came from the 
Mountains of Lebanon, from under the shadow 
of the Acropolis of Baalbak, to learn from the 
Yankees the way to do things — the way to rise 
and flourish and expand ; or, as they put it, the 
way to get there and be it — from a mundane 
point of view, of course. It has been observed, 
however, that the spots of a leopard are irre- 
movable ; and so is the lethargy of an Oriental. 



The writer has found the strenuous Hfe to be 
as depressing and dwarfing as prison Ufe itself ; 
and so he has fallen back to the habit of dream- 
ing, and singing, and taking things easy, even 
in restless and dreamless America. This sounds 
paradoxical ; it is like going from the country 
of Trusts and Equality to establish a trolley-car 
system in the Lebanons. Even this might be 
possible fifty years hence, despite the opposition 
of those ancient hills. The writer has forsaken 
their cedars and pines, their vineyards and fig 
groves to walk in the shadows of sky-scrapers 
and watch the sun rise languidly from behind a 
mound of bricks or a smoking chimney, and 
sink a-blushing behind the grimy v/alls of gas- 
eous Communipaw. 

"So fair a sun 
Setting over so foul a town !" 

one would exclaim ; but nature delights in par- 
adoxes, and freaks, and rococo. These songs, 
dear reader, might not even deserve to be classi- 
fied with like phenomena ; but, as the sincere 
expression of a soul just emerging from the 
abyss, they deserve to stand. If, however, thou 
thinkest them no worse in spirit and merit than 
the amyelencephalic discourses of a pundit, or 
the emetic dissertations of a Zamackshary, then 
remember as thou settest the book aside that the 
author does not appeal to your charity, nor to 
your justice. Thou art the host, gentle reader; 
and he relies on the hospitality and cordiality 
due a guest. 



CONTENTS 

Salaam 5 

Ever To Be 9 

Upon the Peak of Sanneen 10 

The Philistine 12 

My Bornoose 13 

A Spring Dirge 14 

Fardi wa Nafli 15 

Adele 17 

Nectar and Blood 18 

Resurrection 20 

Disarmed Desire 21 

A Better Woe 22 

The First and Last 23 

In the Meadow 24 

O, Sweet Sometime 25 

A Bed of Flame ... 26 

The Sister of Death 26 

Retribution 27 

Let Thine Eyes Whisper 27 

Lilatu Laili 28 

Midnight Mood 29 

Thy Smile 31 

Unadorned 32 

Dissolution 32 

A Serenade 33 

The Brass Bed 34 

Three Golden Threads 35 

Independent Blossoms 36 

The God of my Goddess 36 

A Peasant's Song 37 

7 



Her First Sorrow * 39 

A Noctnrn 40 

Saada 41 

Stolen Salvias 42 

Jealousy 43 

Beneath the Salvias 43 

Gone with the Swallows 44 

To the Sonnet 45 

The Tomb and the Rose 46 

Rest 46 

The Fruits of Death 48 

The "Flatiron" and the Ruins of Palmyra . 48 

It was All for Him 49 

Repentance 50 

O, Give me Strength to Take 51 

Written After Reading King Lear . . 52 

Near the Cascades 53 

Onward Keep 55 

Allah wa Ana 56 

In Memory of E. M. El-K 57 

To Abu'1-Ala 59 



Myrtle and Myrrh 



EVER TO BE 

My far cry, though no one should echo, — 

Though no one to hsten should stand, 
I shall dare with my burden the darkness 

And I shall not retreat from this land ; 
Though I'm hurled 'neath the feet of the mil- 
lions, 

Who struggle their places to keep, 
The sea-nymphs still bathe with my Fancy 

And the Dryads still sweeten my sleep. 

Though I'm crushed, cast away and forgotten, — 

Though I'm buried in the dust of their cars, 
I can see through their madness above me, — 

I can feel the quick pulse of the stars ; 
Though my head be the foot-stool of tyrants, 

Though my back be a step to their throne, 
I still dwell with the kings of Orion 

And I walk with the sun-queen alone. 

Though the hre of my youth should consume 
me, — 

Though my body a brimstone should be, 
I can draw on the clouds for their water 

And behold ! I've of water a sea ; 
And though roofless, and friendless, and hope- 
less, 

And loveless, and godless I stand. 
The waves of my Life shall continue 

To murmur and laugh on the Strand. 



UPON THE PEx-\K OF SANNEEN 

My soul and I, upon the peak 

Of Sanneen grim and grey, 
Sat musing in the twihght of 

A sombre summer day. 

"Great Saturn and the Moon are gone 

Together o'er the sea ; 
But will great Saturn e'er return 

Should he elope with thee? 

Ah well, who knows ? when thou art gone 
I, too, shall sink within the brine, — 

I, too, shall sail above this peak 
And signal yonder groves of pine. 

Behold the melancholy sky 

Of this forgotten land ; 
On this side are the valleys bleak. 

On this, the desert sand." 

"I hear the moaning of the wind," 

My sad companion said ; 
"The snow is gathering in me 

And the night is overhead. 

Long have we dwelt together, friend, 

In our sweet ennui ; 
But were I now to take my leave, 

Alas, what would I be?" 

"O, think not of departing. 

Ah, too young I am to die ; 
I'll find the magic wings ; and there 

Still hangs a friendly sky. 



10 



Let us above these pines, and clouds, 
And scents awhile yet dwell ; — 

Where wouldst thou go, if thou wert now 
To sigh a last farewell?" 

Thou seest the busy elements 

Dissolving one by one 
The souls that are acquitted. 

For the all-absorbing sun. 

Let's sing the song of darkness then ; 

Thy prison is the Whole ; — 
What canst thou do, where wilt thou go. 

What wilt thou be, my Soul ? 

Thou wouldst not be the air that weighs 

Upon the rising dust ; 
Thou wouldst not be the fog that chokes 

The air in savage lust. 

Thou wouldst not be the clouds that block 

The smoke's way to a star ; 
Nor linger in the guilty tears 

Of clouds before the bar. 

Thou wouldst not be the rain that taunts 

The all-devouring sea. 
Itself destroying many a nest 

In bush and rock and tree. 

Thou wouldst not be the thunder's tongue 

Spell-binding all the spheres ; 
Nor wouldst thou be the lightning blade 

That stabs and disappears. 

Thou wouldst not be the dew that falls 
Alike on thorn and flower ; 



II 



Nor even the morning zephyr 
That blows o'er den and bower. 

Thou wouldst not be the virgin snow 
Set free from yonder clouds, 

Only to melt beneath the feet 
Of surging human crowds." 

"No! none of these," my Soul replied; 

"I'll shiver ever thrall ; 
O let me rise, for I would be 

The sky above them all.'' 



THE PHILISTINE 

The cricket to the corn-crake came one day, 
Shivering, yet buzzing in his wanton way, 

And said: "I'm slain 
By hunger, brother, turn thou not from me ; 
Tis winter, and I only beg of thee 

A little grain." 

The corn-crake grinned and said in tone sublime : 
"Where wert thou hidden in the harvest time, 

Thou dinning drone? 
Why didst thou not come with us to the fields 
To gather something for thy winter meals 

Of what had grown? 

"O, I was entertaining with my rhymes 

The vineyards, and the fig trees, and the thymes 

The summer long." 
"No then," replied the corn-crake, "not a seed 
Have I for such as thou ; go home and feed 

Upon thy Song." 



12 



AIY BORNOOSE 

Into this world they tell me I was sent 
Wrapt in a bornoose, which was rudely rent 
And flung away, by her who first didst touch 
My steaming flesh ; I never loved her much, 
The surly, stolid, sordid, spectral hag: 
For never would my star of fortune lag — 
No dwarf of earth to oppose my will would 

dare — 
If my sebaceous bornoose she did spare, 
And if around my neck, the ajous says. 
It hung, locked in a charm, for twenty days. 
But ever since the amulet was torn. 
The curse of gods and jinn and men I've worn; 
And to my flesh it stuck — a Nessus shirt — 
Despite the oozing blood, and not spurt 
Of power, alas ! is left me to control 
The stinging tongue of an avenging soul. 



13 



A I5PRING DIRGE 

Sad, sad, sad — 

In vain thou comest, Spring ; 
Sad, sad, sad — 

In vain thy birds all sing: 
Perfumeless is thy rose ; 
Thy breeze, which softly blows, 
Disturbs my sea of woes, 
Ay, Death is on the wing. 

Gone, gone, gone — 

Go seek her, mocking Spring ; 
Gone, gone, gone — 

Aside thy garlands fling ; 

Destroy thy laughing bower ; 
Call back an April shower 
To weep with me this hour : 
He came, not reckoning. 

Love, love, love — 

What sendest thou with Spring? 
Love, love, love — 

What tidings these birds bring! 
They tell me they can hear 
Thee, in a higher sphere ; 
But can that dry a tear, 
Or give mv wish a wing? 



14 



FARDI WA NAFLI 

This was written in the hospital where Mr. Riliani's sister 
suffered for more than two years. She was taken sick not long 
before the day appointed for her wedding. 

I 

"Here she is : O take her not away so soon ! 

Spare her youth — the fatal cup from her with- 
hold ! 
Let her groan within my arms in life's fore- 
noon ; 

Let me still my soul within her eyes unfold." 
God of Love ! my faith in thee is not yet gray : 

Grant that she may walk again, 

Free from suffering and pain — 
Give her life to see the altar's light one day. 

II 

In the night, before the day that never came. 

On the way with poppies and gardenias 
strewn. 
With her music and her torch's holy flame, 

She was struck and never since saw sun or 
moon. 
God of Light ! refuse her not another ray : 

Her bridal garment joins with me 

In beseeching, begging thee — 
Give her life to see the altar's light one day. 

Ill 

All the sorrow earth contains I can support, 
All the agony and pain I can endure ; 

Years of misery will seem surprising short, 
If to me thou leav'st her, though without a 
cure. 



15 



All m}' dreams before thy throne, O God, I slay ; 

These my offerings let be, 

These my sacrifice to thee — 
Give her life to see the altar's light one day. 

IV 

'"Hurry here! O get the doctors — call the 
nurse — 

Call the priest — be quick — some more digit- 
aline — 
He is here, alas ! before you all — a hearse." 

Death has passed us by ; take up the violin ! 
To Thy heart my music fain would find its way ; 

Every sound Thy grace would earn ; 

Let it not as sad return — 
Give her life to sec the altar's light one day. 

V 

Every wound and every sigh and groan and 
tear, 
Every drop of Saada's melting flesh and hope 
Now ascend, wrapt in this music, pale and 
blear — 
Around Thy throne, in gyves of pain, they 
blindly grope. 
What remains, what's gone of her before Thee 
lay : 
Faith and Doubt are at Thy door — 
Mother, brother, pray, implore — 
Give her life to see the altar's light one dav. 



i6 



ADELE 

Adele ! a name that kindled in the breast 
Of France's first-born of the fairest Muse 
A flame in which a thousand colors fuse 
And shame the April rainbows of the West ; 
But I can only stand upon the crest 
Of Song's most sacred Mount and bring excuse 
That I have begged, and since the gods refuse, 
I steal, and with the theft I thee invest, 

A Sun or Moon of Song for all my oceans 
Of purest love, an ornament at best, — 
A bunch of stars — a wreath for my emotions ; 
But if the gods with sisters dear are blest. 
To me they all must come in joy or sorrow. 
From me they all must steal, or beg, or borrow. 



17 



NECTAR AND BLOOD 

I 

If I should worship at thine ancient shrine, 
Where thy good sons, incensed by love of war, 
Now clamor, as their fathers did of yore — 
If I should sacrifice what is not mine. 
Nor any living god's, nor even thine — 
If for the sake of honor I must pour 
This cup of life upon thy barren shore. 
How will it fare then with my love divine? 

No ! let thy sons go forth to burn and slay : 
Let them for love of thee and glory smear 
And tear the love of all that's pure and dear ; 
Let them this loveless love in rage display ; 
I can not join them ; no, I can not cheer 
As they beneath my window pass to-day. 

II 

What care I for the tears the maudlin crowd 
Sheds o'er my bier — for praise of Cburch and 

State— 
For glory that remains within the gate 
Of worldly things — for men's esteem avowed — 
For freedom that is not with love endowed — 
For fame that lingers oft and comes too late. 
When these the sorrow of my love create 
And haunt her with the shadow of my shroufl? 

How cowardly, self-centered have I grown — 
How dead to true and noble feelings all? 
Why not, when they the human soul enthrall — 
Why not, when they the beast in man enthrone? 
I cling to love, and with love I will fall. 
Unwept, unsung, unhonored and unknown. 

i8 



Ill 

What will these kings and war-lords of the land 
And all their ministers of murder fell 
Do with their arms and fleets — all tools of hell — 
If every son of man resolve to stand 
A-wieldingf, king-like, in his home the wand, 
Beside the ones he loves and honors well ? 
Can force this gentle host of peace compel, 
When loving hearts their amber wings expand? 

O love, though hounded, outlawed we may be — 
Though Slander, dagger-drawn, be on our trail — 
Though Hatred with her hydra tongues should 

rail 
At us, and though left sinking in the sea 
Of ostracism, ay, never will I quail, 
But will now and forever cling to thee. 



19 



RESURRECTION 

The ghost of Winter stalks amidst the boughs 
Of Spring and drags along his icy shroud ; 
The corn flowers and the wheat, with broken 

vows, 
Are now beneath tlie storm untimely bowed. 

O Winter, thou wert buried on the hills ; 
Thine epitaph was written with melted snow ; 
Thy skeleton is in the barren rills, 
Where once thy silvery life-blood used to flow. 

Why visitest the glimpses of the sun 

So soon, what message bring'st thou from the 

dead ? 
Why rudely interrupt the children's fun 
And havoc among the Guests of Summer spread ? 

Behold, the branches shiver, the blossoms fall ; 
The lilac in the leaves a shelter seeks ; 
Thy savage winds the Queen of May appal, — 
They pale with summer's dust her rosy cheeks. 

Withhold the solemn music of thy gale 
Until the golden notes of Spring are spun ; 
The opera in the trees is but begun, 
O, drown it not with thy benighted wail. 

For thee May's winged madonnas will not sing, 
Nor in thy presence will they now appear : 
Begone, that their sweet voices we may hear — 
Begone, the world to-da_\' belongs to Spring. 



20 



DISARMED DESIRE 

O, how the Hght drifts from the hemlock 

grove, 
How in the night disarmed Desires do rove ! 

A sister to the dumb hydrangea thou, 
A mystery born of the Then and Now. 

The color on thy clouded face — ah me ! 
Is't from the embers that still burn in thee? 

Has not the forge of suffering robbed thee of 
The flame with which weak mortals feed their 
love? 

Wilt thou, no longer fancying the light. 
Conjure a virgin flame from darkest night? 

And feed it with the salvias of a soul. 

That would, but yet— alas ! she seeks the Whole. 

The hand that broke the screen, the heart that 

lied,— 
Where are they? Come, the path of truth is 

wide. 

The silvery cataracts of roaring rills 
Meander in the shadows of the hills ; 

And their bass music, — does it not arise 
From that descent that leads up to the skies? 

O how disarmed Desire uprises, how — 
Does not the darkness crown the Lightning's 
brow ? 



21 



Yet how I wish, yet how I shrink, when I 
Behold thee — ah, she's ever in mine eye ! 

If thy pink, blue and golden hues disclose 
The secret, might not that undo the rose? 

Thou sister to the dumb hydrangea, when 
Will all thy sombre musings rise again? 

O, how the light drifts from the hemlock grove, 
How in the night disarmed Desires do rove 1 



A BETTER WOE 

Of all my desert days 

Thou art the only one 

Upon whose sandy face 

A strip of pleasure's foliage trembling grows 

Of all the winding ways. 

Which with my rapture shone 

But one can I retrace, 

And there the barren breast of beauty glows. 

Of all the dread desires. 

That beat within me still. 

One shakes the sacred fear 

And hurls me into the arms of her below ; 

But oh, how life suspires — 

How soon after the thrill 

Of joy I shudder, I hear 

My murmuring soul pine for a better woe. 



22 



THE FIRST AND LAST 

kiss me now ; the end is near 
The bright beginning ; kiss me, dear. 

1 would not that thou shouldst one day 
In bitter thought remembering say : 

"W'hen in the high tide of our bhss 
Upon these Hps I slew the kiss 
That should have lived." 

The kiss I fear — 
The poison, ah, the lie, my dear. 

Fear not ; O kiss me whilst I can't 
Refuse ; am I to-morrow thine ? 
Wilt thou be near me when I pant ? 

I shall not go ; thou wilt not pine. 
Sweet thoughts ! — Alas, the first, the last ! 

Nay, nay ! I cling to thee : the past 

Is dying in the lap of night 

In which our star is shining bright. 

The fingers in the shadow, there! 
What are they weaving? Look, a shroud! 
Come, purse thy lips ; do not despair ; 
Take hold my hand and speak aloud. 

No, no ! For whom that shroud, for whom ? 
Not for our love — not for our jov? 

* * -.;: :|c '-A- * 

Then seal thou with thy lips my doom, 
Av, with a kiss this life destroy! 



23 



IX THE MEADOW 

The shadow of thy curls I see 

Upon thy lovely face ; 
And just a little wish is mine — 

The shadow to embrace. 

On thy black and silken tresses, 
Ah, one longs to feast the sight ; 

But the shadows of their beauty, 
Hanging on thy cheeks of light, 

From my lips, exact a tribute, 

Which I pay here in this meadow : 

Blush not, my most winsome maiden ; 
I have only kissed the shadow. 



24 



i 

i 



O, SWEET SOA'IETIME 

O, sweet Sometime, the gardens bloom the while 

I wait ; 
Each moment melts a tear of joy before thy gate ; 
It is thy pleasure that I burn, — it is my fate, 
O, sweet Sometime ! 

O, when the moment in this interval is born. 
When through this sleeping splendor breaks the 

lingering morn, 
And when thy sensual silence laughs my noise 

to scorn — 
O, sweet Sometime ! 

Spare me the vacant moment yet, — O just awhile ; 

Expectancy, thy sweetest daughter, will beguile 

Aiy yearning hours ; the shades reflected by her 

smile 

Are now my haunts, O sweet Sometime. 

The waiting while, O sweet Sometime, I can 
enjoy ; 

Thy heralding shadows every beating pang de- 
stroy, 

And with their breath of musk and myrrh my 
soul they cloy, 
O, sweet Sometime ! 

I tremble, I forget, I throb when once I hear 
The dying interval announcing thou are near; 
A touch, a groan, a kiss and thou wilt disappear, 
With bitten lip, O. sweet Sometime ! 

And then the memory — O, how it will oppress ! 
Far sweeter is Expectancy — ah, let me press 
The vigor from her limbs to mine; Ell yet caress 
The waiting while, O, sweet Sometime! 

25 



A^BED OF FLAME 

I saw one day on the horizon grey, 

As with my load I wandered near the sea, 
A whiff of smoke embrace the sleeping sun ; 
And just as their enchantment had begun, 
A lonely cloud that roved above the lea 
Passed by their couch and hid them from the 
day. 

I saw this and my soul, long silent, cried : 
"Would that I were the whiff of smoke 
Now sleeping with the sun ! 
In beds of flame, how often was I tried, — 
How often have I 'neath the stroke 
Of God or Satan shone!" 



THE SISTER OF DEATH 

Ah, talk to me of something else, I pray ; 
I'm weary of the dreams that bring nor sleep. 
Nor rest, nor love, nor something from the deep, 
Where buried are the gods of yesterday ; 
Ah, talk to me of Death that takes away 
My little sorrows, as they hide and peep. 
My little joys, as they disport and leap, 
My little vanities, my budless May. 

The burden of my virtues and my sins. 

The burden of authority that grins 

At every effort, ah, the burden kills ; 

I know that Death a Sister hath, but where. 

Where can I find thee. Love, when shall I share 

The sweetness of the silence of the hills ? 



26 



. RETRIBUTION 

How I did hold in deep contempt 

The slaves and queens of love ! 
How I disguised iny feelings when 

I met a deer or a dove ! 
How I did smile and snifif and rail 

At lovers young and old ; 
How I denied, in days gone by, 

O love, thy charms untold ! 
But now, alas ! I find myself 

In chains at Beauty's shrine : 
The chains whose power I have denied 

Are sapping, sapping mine. 



LET THINE EYES WHISrER 

Grieve not, for I am near thee ; 

.Sigh not, for I can hear thee ; 
Wash from thy heart all memory of past wrong 

Doubt not that doubts besmear thee ; 

Speak not, for I do fear thee ; 
Let thine eyes whisper love's conciling song. 



27 



LILATU LAILI 

At night on the radiant Rialto, 

By the stars in their houses of glass, 
I strolled with my soul in my pocket 

And prayed that my night might not pass ; 
I have seen 'neath the high heels of Beauty 

My heart and my soul and my shame ; 
That form ! O, how often it lured me, 

And how often I lost in the game ! 

And how often I walked in the shadow 

Of a Laila a mile and a mile ! 
But the rapture and bliss of a vision 

Would end in a great gush of bile. 
To the hints that her garment would whisper 

I have listened but I would not dare ; 
I have seen every one of my fancies 

Retreat in the dark of her hair. 

I have wished that each building around us 

Was a cedar, a poplar, a pine; 
That the men and the women were statues, 

And the rain that was falling was wine ; 
That the lights were ethereal flowers ; 

That the cars were the nooks in the wood,- 

"O, enough !" she exclaimed as she kissed me, 
"This attic and couch are as good." 



28 



MIDNIGHT lAIOOD 

There's one upon whose youthful breast I fain 
would die : 
jNIy soul upon her lingering lips through mine 

I'd pour 
In torrents that would reach and thrill Love's 
every shore — 
In floods that drown the earth and rise to drown 
the sk}'. 

But how can I ? Alas, the leaves must shield the 
flower, 
And silent see her proffering to the butterfly 
Her cheeks, her honeyed lips, her soul, — O, 
how can I ? 
In all the worlds, to change my being, is there 
no power ? 

How oft I rise at night to probe the human laws, 
My beating temples all my waking hours re- 
cording ! 
And nor solution, nor repose my task afford- 
ing.— 
How oft my carnal silence cries for the bliss that 
was ! 

The bliss that generous nature gives, that man 
denies — 
A bliss that's chained in idle words and damned 

codes 
And creeds and customs creeping in their dark 
abodes — 
The bliss that's lost within an endless maze of 
lies. 



29 



Pray, tell nie, mtist the North Wind blow and 
sweep by rule ? 
Must he the virgin ponds and springs and rills 

avoid ? 
See how the ocean, panting, rising, overjoyed, 
Holds out her arms to him, — why not the limpid 
pool? 

And thou, O himian Ocean, — would that I could 
give 
In equal measure, when beneath me thou art 

parting ! 
O, generous, fiery soul, in love though I am 
wanting. 
My flesh, within thy passion's hearth, will glow 
and live. 

Thou art the twilight ; I'm the dawn ; yet we shall 
meet 
And flood the firmament with fire and rainbow- 
beauty. 
No unfed sun or moon shall rob us of our 
booty. 
And if the gods should frown, — is not rebellion 
sweet ? 

But ah, live Twilight ! why cannot the Dawn be 
true? 
Wh}?^ can't I quaff from thy sad lips, as thou, 

from mine? 
Why can't this heart, forgetting once, as well 
be thine? 
How can I my most holy passion tame, subdue? 

That youthful breast, imprisoned, I see through 
thine own ; 



30 



Those Eastern eyes cannot be bidden by thy 

flame ; 
That form, as I am in thine arms — O, do not 

blame — 
In mine I fancy, — let me die in shame alone ! 



THY SMILE 

Outside the gates of night, aboye the moon, 
Where breatheth none but gods, where light alone 
Forever rules from his star-studded throne. 
Where Melancholy never reaches noon. 
And where the Pleiades their harps attune, — 
There in the centre of the lightning zone, 
l^pon the zephyr wliich the storm hath sown, 
Thou first v/ert formed Vv'ith pleasure to com- 
mune. 
And now in Pleasure's world, upon the face 
Of bright and gay Bohemia's fairest child 
The zephyr dallies with the lightning flash ; 
The smile divine, as well the subtle grace 
Are deeply there impressed, by naught defiled— 
There joy's received as well as paid in cash. 



31 



U^\\DORNED 

Regardless of the cries of priests and sages 
I strove to give my bleeding soul her wages ; 

And each embrace or memory of one 
Is worth to me the treasures of the ages, 
Is worth to me the treasures of the ages. 

Each shadow of a kiss or fond embrace 
Down in the depth of solitude I trace ; 

And in the corners of my darkest den 
The fallen gods of pleasure find a place, 
The fallen gods of pleasure find a place. 

And though knee-deep I find myself in hell, 
And though the flames around my checks should 
swell, 
I shall not loose my grip on Allah's throne, 
I shall not fall alone, I know full well, 
I shall not fall alone, I know full well. 



DISSOLUTION 

I languish in thy penetrating clasp. 
Just as a bird entangled on a bough 

Shaken by the wind ; 
Yet here would I be happy in the grasp 
Of death ; but in thy breast I'm hidden now, 

And death is blind. 

I melt beneath thy storm of kisses, dear, 
Just as the gum upon the almond tree 
Of melting when alone and far from thee : 

Melts 'neath the rain ; 
Yet would I melt to-night than live in fear 

O, storm again ! 

32 



A SERENADE 



The moon hath said her sad good-bye. 

My sleeping queen ; 
And all the stars are wondering why 

Thou art unseen. 
Rehold ! abashed, they take to flight. 
As through the casement breaks thy light. 
Arise, my dawn, arise ! 
Arise, my queen serene ! 

II 

The field of heaven is all thine own, 

My peerless star. 
Just as my heart is thine alone, 

Be near or far. 
So let thy face adorn the night. 
And flood it with thy dazzling light. 
Arise, my queen, arise ! 
Arise, to my guitar ! 

Ill 

The vaults above all vacant seem, 

My sweetest flower ; 
And for thv scent, the cherubim 

Long at this hour. 
A moment from thy sweet dream part. 
Though in that dream be wove my heart. 
Arise, my queen, arise ! 
Let fall thy perfume shower. 



33 



THE BRASS BED 

I love thy color and thy symmetry ; 

I love the art that v/ronght thy ghttering- arms. 

Thy canopy, thy satin portieres too ; 

I love the silks and feathers on thy breast — 

The cushions and the pillows and the quilts : 

1 love thine every part. 

Yet still more do I love to rest in thee — 

To dream of art's perfection in thy frame ; 

Of paths as smooth, as shining as thy limbs ; 

Of scenes as exquisite as thy coils ; 

Of nooks as warm as thine hospitable bosom, 

As cool and as refreshing as thy veinless naked 

arms, 
I dream of all beneath thy soothing mantle. 

But O, I love my dreams much more than thee, 

.'Vnd one sad soul much more than all mv dreams. 

If thou hadst but an eve to see. 

To look upon the guest that lay upon thy floor 

Beneath thy silken ceiling ! 

O, hadst thou but an ear to hear 

The plaintive chirpings of this swallow-soul. 

Couldst thou but feel her forehead 

iVioistened with the sweat of hope and pain. 

For forty moons she lay within thine arms, 

Rubbing her erstwhile rosy cheeks 

Against the ulcers of Ayoub of yore. 

Couldst thou but see, O Bed of Brass, 

Couldst thou but hear, couldst thou but feel, — 

Of Vvdiat use all thy showy stuff — 
Thv glittering brass, the. filigree of art. 
Thy floor of down and feather cushions all, 
Thy snow-white mantles, satin tapestries? 

34 



Beauty and Pain ! 

Death will not come with thee, O Pain ! 
Life will not come with thee, O Beauty ! 
The fires of hell are but a taper's flame compared 
to this. 

Thy guest, O Bed of Brass, 

Looks on thee with a yearning glance. 

And vet her soul, bearing the torch of Pain, 

Ls searching all the worlds for Death. 



THREE GOLDEN THREADS 

(After dc Lisle.) 

Like yonder swallow, I would soar away, — 
Above the sea, far from this buzzing mart ; 

But how can I? A cruel, little fay 

Plas fettered with three golden threads my 
heart. 

Tier honeyed tongue the one ; her eyes the other ; 

The third her lips ; and that completes her art. 
No fruits from other gardens can I gather. 

For she has tied with golden threads my heart. 

O, how I would asunder rend my chain. 

And from the tears and pangs of love depart ; 

Ah. no! 'tis better that I die in pain 

Than break the golden threads of my poor 
heart. 



35 



INDEPENDENT BLOSSOMS 

When the spring boughs were told 
Soon the rose will unfold 
Herself in the bower 

Of which she is queen, 
Their blossoms, beguiling 
The sad leaves, said smiling : 
"No slaves to a flower 
Have we ever been." 

Our lords are the birds. 
And they love not in words ; 
They sing when we smile 
And sob when we fall ; 
Her lord is the liar — 
The thief or the buyer — 
Who smells her the while 
She lives, and that's all. 



THE GOD OF MY GODDESS 

The old gods and their slaves Eve deserted ; 

The new gods Eve shunned at first sight ; 
And my god is the god of the goddess 

That presides at my feast of delight. 
But once, when the dark moment lingered, 

I questioned the god she adores ; 
To his throne I implored her to lead me. 

And, behold! Em the god she implores. 



36 



A PEASANT'S SONG 

O, thou, who loved me once, 
From thy Pagoda glance ; 
Shoot down a poisoned lance : 

All's well that comes from thee. 

Look back, look down once more ; 
Dear was to thee this shore ; 
I see thee nevermore 

Beneath the olive tree. 

Remains my station low. 
Whilst thou dost greater grow ; 
Ah, fate hath struck the blow 
That parted thee and me. 

How can I bear my fate, 
How can I loveless wait 
In this most sorry state, 

When thou art far and free? 

Far from the soul that swore 
On love's abysmal door 
To cling forevermore 

To none on earth but thee ; 

Free from the sacred plight 
Which, to dispel the night. 
Thou madest, when I quite 
Fell near thy bended knee. 

Dost thou not still remember 
Love's May and Love's December? 
Both burned their sacred ember 
In our sweet company. 



37 



Dost hear the echoes fall 
Within thy gilded hall ? 
Dost thon not ever recall 

The day thou wert like me? 

When all thy gardens bloom, 
Look out into the gloom ; 
There does the flame consume 
Thy budless lilac tree. 

There often thou didst play 
A-mindless of the day 
When soul to soul would say : 
"No more of thee and me." 

And when withers thy rose, 
Throw to the wind that blows 
This way a leaf ; who knows 
What therein I can see. 

And till my course is run 
I'll count them one by one — 
These leaves ; and may the sun 
Of jov ne'er set on thee. 



HER FIRST SORROW 

'T is but a score of hours when he didst swear 
!\Iy sorrow and my joy to share. 

Despite the fates, fore'er ; 
But now he's gone to cash again his he; 

Others his shame with me will wear, 
Why should I die? 

Last night his hps my very feet didst burn ; 
His kisses dropt, my love to earn, 

Whichever v\/a3' he'd tu.rn ; 
But now he's gone another soul to rob. 

Another heart to hu'e and spurn, ' 
Why should I sob? 

He did not kiss me when he said good-bye ; 
I let him go, not asking why, 

Nor do I for him sigh ; 
He's gone another virgin breast to tear. 

He's gone on other lips to die, 
Whv should I care? 



39 



A NOCTURN 

Upon the face of darkness beams my soul — 

Nearby, behind the curtains of my sight ; 
And 'round it weary waves of wonder roll — 
Sad seas of color o'er dead seas of light : 
Here is no Space, no Time — nor day nor 
night — 
Here is the boundless, undiminished Whole — 
Here is my soul. 

Here is no love that hides beneath its shoal 
The sandix that can redden a sea of years ; 

Here is no lust that lies to Beauty's mole 
And draws from eyes of flint a flood of tears ; 
Here is no disenchantment and no fears — 

No blasted hopes, no jaunty joy. no dole — 
Here is my soul. 

Now lost in clay and water ; now the Whole 
Is lost within me : sea and earth and sky 

I dismiss from my presence, as I roll 
My lids and lo, the lord of night am I. 
Into the airless wilderness I fly ; 

Here is no vain desire, no galling goal — 
Here is my soul. 

In Eternity, shod with the hoary noul 

Of deathless Death — in dim and shimmering 
shades 
Of soilless vales that bosom and cajole 

The crystal flowers dropping from cloud-cas- 
cades ; 
Here in the grove of myriad colonnades 
Of jet and pearl and amber I now stroll — 
Here is my soul. 



40 



SAADA 

Long hast thou s'.iffered. sister of my licart, 

Still thou art 

Fair to see ; 
Thy pains thou cntertainest with thy song, 

But how long 

Will this be? 

The seasons all have come and gone, my dear, 

But thy cheer 

Still abides. 
I ask which of thy moan or song is best 

And thou sayst : 

"God decides." 

I feel the ebbing of the undertone 

Of thy moan 

In thy song ; 
How long will tears and irony compete 

For thee. Sweet, 

O, how long? 

When wilt thou. Baby dear, with nimble feet, 

Run to greet 

Me at the door? 
When wilt thou, Saada, walk again with me 

Near the sea, 

As before? 

O sister, how I wish to see thee run, 

In the sun, 

On the sands ! 
The singing breakers and the smiling beach 

To thee reach 

Out their hands. 



41 



The light of clfy is longing for thy face 

And the grace 

Of thy form ; 
O how I wish to see thee, Noor-ul-Ain 

Caught again 

In the storm ! 



STOLEN SALVIAS 

O, bleeding blossoms, tell, were my heart there — 

There in your bed, 
Would that sweet thief that stole you unaware 

Have stolen it instead? 
Come with me, scarlet salvias, to your home ; 

We are not late ; 
Love in the moonlight there again vvill roam — 

There let us wait. 
I still remember when one night she crowned 

Me with the stars 
Plucked from your scarlet sky — she would 
astound 

The kings of Mars. 
She then would slay me — wash the face of night 

With my bold blood — 
Ay, she would show that yours is not as bright 

And not as good. 
O, scarlet salvias, why should I refuse 

When I'm with you ? 
Whv should I chill my lady, if she choose 

To steal me too? 



42 



JEALOUSY 

The violets their soft, dark lashes part, 
While robins serenade them far and near ; 

But the anemone, with ebon heart 

And blood-shot eyes, pretends she does not 
hear. 

The violets invite the nightingale 

Whose carols fall in dew upon their bed ; 

But the hydrangea, as safifron pale. 

Holds hig'h above the wall her noddino; head. 



BENEATH THE SALVIAS 

Beneath the salvias, where some angel slew 
The favors that were granted by his god, 
My heart is hidden ; let thy feet be shod 
With feathers plucked from my wings of crim- 
son hue. 
When here again thou might'st be wandering- 
through ; 
Look not above; Lm breathing in the sod. 
A-mindless of the years, 'neath which Fm trod — 
Of Spring birds' song, or shrieks of Winter's 

crew. 
Here let me sleep, my lady: wake me not; 
Here let me gather, hidden from the moon 
And the sun, the strength to rise again and see ; 
No sweeter, dearer, more enchanting spot 
Is there for my sick heart ; O, not so soon — 
Awake me not — O, let me dream of thee. 



43 



GONE WITH THE SWALLOWS. 

Must I convey at last the news to thee? 
Must I now mourn the love that lived in me? 
Gone with the autumn, with the dying year. 
Gone with the kisses that are yet so near! 
Gone with the swallows somewhere o'er the sea ! 
But with the Spring will he again 
Return, will he with me remain? 

Must I till then, remembering naught, 
Forgetting all that love had brought, 
Grope in the shadows of the slain? 
Must I forget the day 
That took my love away, 
And all the happy hours 
That reared for him their towers 
And crowned him with the flowers 
Of all the queens of May? 
Must I alone 
My once my own, 
In my retreat 
The new year greet, 
And winter meet. 
And winds hear moan? 
Not yet 
Can I 
Forget ; 
But why 
One clings 
And sings 
To things 
That die? 



44 



TO THE SONNET 

Though cribbed and gyved, thou canst within thy 

walls 
Unfold a wondrous wealth of worlds unseen. 
And flood the soul's abyss with moon-light sheen. 
As well as darken passions' gilded halls ; 
Thy fourteen outlets are so many falls 
From which gush out the prisoned joy, or 

spleen — 
The silvery cascades, or the billows green. 
And either a sea of bliss or grief recalls. 
Thou goddess of the gems of Fancy's deep. 
Though few thy facets, they reflect the whole 
Of inner-self in multi-shaded hues ; 
Thou art the couch of dreams that never sleep ; 
Thou art the phoenix of the poet's soul. 
As well the crystal palace of his muse. 



45 



THE TOMB AND THE ROSE 
{After Victor Hugo.) 

The Tomb said to the Rose : 

Flower of Love, where goes 

Each tear which Dawn upon thy cheeks doth 

shed? 
The Rose said to the Tomb : 
What makest in thy gloom 
Impenetrable of the countless dead? 

Said the Rose : O Tomb, of all these tears, 
In my recesses ere the sun appears, 

1 make a perfume which the gods will prize. 
Said the Tomb : O plaintive Flower, 

Of every mortal I devour 

An angel do I make for Paradise. 



REST 

Long have I a word enshrined 
And worshipped with a piety blind! 
Long have I been seeking Rest 
In the East and in the West! 
Here and there and everywhere 
Have I seen her shadow fair ; 
But the shadow seems to fade 
Like the flowers of yonder glade. 
In my lone retreat I sought 
Her, but dreams against me fought. 
In my nights for her I pray, 
But with sleep she stays away. 

Foolish is thine eflfort, vain — 
Fruitless, hopeless is thy pain! 
With the march of Motion keep, 
46 



In thy walk and in thy sleep 
Beyond thy finite power it lies 
To chain the coursers of the skies. 
Even nomads and cells minute 
Worlds of unrest constitt:te. 

Rest is no where to be found ; 
Each to all in suffering bound. 
And no power can deliver thee, 
Mortal, from activity. 
In thy life as in thy death, 
In thy heart as in thy breath, 
On the earth as in the skies 
Restless Motion never dies. 
Always raging, always spinning, 
Endless and without beginning. 

Death, like me, is seeking Rest. 
And all the seas are in her quest ; 
But ah, poor souls, she is beyond 
Our grasp ; we must go on and on. 
No, nor even the grave is free 
From the laws that shackle me ; 
New life from his worms takes wing. 
And on his face fresh blossoms spring. 



4?: 



THE FRUITS OF DEATH 

I 

Said golden leaves upon the ground 
To new born leaves upon the tree : 

"Soon homeward autumn winds will blow 
And carry us away to sea, 

Just as it shook the night before 
The branches all and set us free ; 

No longer do we envy bird or dew, 

Nor do we want again to be like you." 

n 

The sweet and tender leaves replied : 
"Still we rejoice that we are here ; 

We rise from the eternal source 
Of life to crown the dying year ; 

The wind that freed you we can see. 
The sea you love we always hear. 

You are the boot}- of the storm and we. 

We are the fruits of Death upon Life's tree." 



THE "FLATIRON" AND THE RUINS OF 
PALMYRA 

To the Ruins of Palmyra this the "Flatiron" ad- 
drest : 
"Did you ever in your glory 
Dream of looking up to see my crest?" 

To the "Flatiron" the Ruins thus replied across 
the sea : 
"We were like thee yesterday. 
To-morrow thou wilt like us be." 

48 



IT WAS ALL FOR HLM 

I strolled upon the Crooklyn Britlge one da\-, 

Beneath the storm ; 
None but a lad in rags upon the way 
1 saw ; — there on a bench he lay 

Heedless of form. 

He seemingly was reading what the Shower 
Was publishing upon the Bridge and down 
the Bay ; 

Yet he was writing, writing at this liour, — 
Writing in a careless sort of wa}'. 

L4)on a pad he scribbled and as fast the rain 
Retouched, effaced, corrected and revised. 

Was he recording Nature's solemn strain. 
Or sketching choristers therein disguised? 

Whatever it be, I found myself quite by his side ; 
My nod and smile he pocketed and wrote 
again ; 
"Read me your drizzling stuff," I said, and h.c 
replied : 
"I've written a check in payment for this 
shower of rain." 



49 



REPENTANCE 

When tears wash tears and soul upon soul leaps, 
When clasped in arms of anguish and of pain. 

When love beneath the feet of passion creeps, 
Ah me, what do we gain? 

When we our rosy bower to demons lease, 
When Life's most tender strains by shrieks are 
slain, 

When strife invades our quietude and peace, 
Ah me, what do we gain? 

When we allow the herbs of hate to sprout, 
When weeds of jealousy the lily stain. 

When pearls of faith are crushed by stones of 
doubt. 
Ah me, what do we gain? 

When night creeps on us in the light of day. 
When we nepenthes of good cheer disdain, 

When on the throne of courage sits dismay, 
Ah mc, what do we gain? 

When sweetness, goodness, kindness all have 
died, 
When naught but broken, bleeding hearts re- 
main. 
When rough-shod o'er our better self we ride. 
Ah me, what do we gain ? 



50 



O, GIVE ME STRENGTH TO TAKE 

Thy love's as tender as the drooping rose that 
sadly says to earth : 
"No more have I the strength to take what 
thou giv'st me ;" 
But unlike her, alas, thy love's complaint of 
dearth : 
"Thou hast no strength to give what I demand 
of thee." 

Thy love hath heard the many whispered prom- 
ises of every soul ; 
His birth methinks is nigh coeval with the 
birth of time : 
He lives in death throughout the ages, and his 
goal 
Is hidden in the faded flowers from every 
clime. 

His soul is deeper than the sea and deepest cav- 
erns in its bed ; 
'T is higher than the highest sky above our 
own ; 
'T is purer than the morning dew a-dripping 
from the salvias red ; 
'T is mightier than the four winds, blowing 
from every zone. 

This love hath offered me the keys of all his halls 
and towers, 
And to my heart with clinging kisses he ap- 
pealed ; 
But, ah, forgive me God ! must I the sweetest 
flowers 
Refuse because thev do not grow in Beauty's 
field? 

51 



WRITTEN AFTER READING KING LEAR 

Long is his course, O master of onr woes. 
And joys, and tears, oiu" passions and desires, 
In nature's school — in helLbegotten fires ; 
Dread is the agony and fell the throes 
Which with the Night and Storm he undergoes, 
W'hile Treason in his robes herself attires, 
And Love beneath adultery's sheet expires, 
.Vnd iriocked Sincerity sincerer grows. 
To vie with wailing winds and weeiMng clouds 
And valleys shrieking in the fangs of storms. 
This Hunian liurricanc thou didst create ; 
But just as soon as Death this horror shrouds, 
I hear the distant cry of fiery forms, 
Av, and tlie creaking of hell's deepest gate. 



NEAR THE CASCADES 

Hold back thy lips, I pray ; 
Just let nie rest this way; 
jMy soul is in the spray 
Arising from the silvery cascades nnn-muring 
farewell to the day. 

Thy kisses 'neath a sigh 
Of mine extinguished lie ; 

friend, I choke, I die : 
Pray, let me raise my head to see the parting 

light, the vivid sky, 

If every kiss of thine 
Is safe!}' kept with mine 
For one for whom I pine, 
AVouldst thou, contented with the taking, call my 
love a love divine? 

Ay, and for every tear 
Thou sheddest when I'm near 

1 shed a score to hear ] 
Her echo my desire's sigh, albeit she is not thy \ 

peer. • ^ 

If I were but a reed. 
Or but a fern or weed. 
This would not be my creed ; 
But prick thou these cold slips and all the roots 
of me in heaven will bleed. 

Thy burniug breath is creeping 
xA.ll over me ; 't is leaping 
Into my bones and sweeping 
Their ashes out, up and into mine eyes, alas ! 
the awful reaping. 

5^ 



No longer do I fear, 
Nor see, nor feel, nor hear ; 
No longer am I near ; 
If thou wilt quench thy flame, kiss now the lips 
that were to thee so dear. 

As well kiss thou the grass 
On which I lay, alas ! 
Like me, thou too wilt pass ; 
One kiss will turn thy lips to ashes and one tear, 
thine eyes to glass. 

Beneath this hemlock tree 
A clod I leave to thee ; 
But over land and sea 
My soul is rising, rising, rising, searching for the 
gods that be. 

But gods have lived, and lied. 
And loved, and fell, and died ; 
And like me too they cried 
For mercy at the snow white feet of Beauty's 
daughter, 
Beauty's bride. 

And when from Beauty's spell 
Her soul is free, she'll dwell 
In mine, the storm to quell : 
In mine she'll rise to realms of bliss, or swiftly 
whirl into the deepest hell. 



54 



ONWARD KEEP 

Onward keep ! Forget the self that cried : 
"This world's a forest choked with ice and 
snow ; 
No spark of fire through it can ever ride, 
No human flame in it can ever glow." 
And keeping onward, now, I find 
The golden leaves of yesterday 
All safely hidden from the wind 

Beneath the snow that melts away, 
And on the shivering boughs 

New leaves and tender sprout; 
They crown the winter's brows, 
And laugh away his doubt. 
And in the brook 
The echoes of 
What I forsook — 

What I did love. 
And the frost 

'Neath the breath 
Of me must 

Welcome death ; 
And the heat 
Left behind 
Guides the feet 
Of the blind. 
Onward keep ; 
Laugh and weep ; 

Pain and joy 
Hide and peep. 

Rise and fall — 
Fall and rise ; 

This is all — 
This is wise. 



55 



L.ofC. 



ALLAH WA ANA 

Though I'm God, thou art man, we are one, 

We are all and we shall ever be ; 
Though the light of my sky thou didst shun, 
Thou shalt love me ere thy course is run, 
As forever I live loving thee. 

Thou art mine, 1 am thine and the fire 

Of my breath all thy regions shall warm, 

Ere the life in thy soil shall expire, 

Ere the seeds of thy basest desire 

From their prison break out and take form. 

Thou wilt doubt and deny me forsooth 

And rejoice in thy vanity's power ; 
Thou wilt die on the breast of my truth, 
Li the end thou wilt laugh at thy youth. 
And its wine although old will be sour. 

I was with thee when thou didst deny. 
As I am with thy mother at prayer ; 
I was with thee when thou didst defy 
My hell and my earth and my sky, 

And I love none the less those that dare. 

In the A'ogi's pagoda I am ; 

In the fire of the magi I was ; 
To the sons of Abraheem and Sham 
And their foes and to thee I undam 

All the banks of my veins on the cross. 

Through the spheres and the primitive throngs 

I came down and I struggled with thee ; 
Through the ages I sing in thy songs. 
But I leave thee to rise on thy wrongs ; — 
Thou shalt rise and thou shalt live in me. 

56 



IN MEMORY OF E. M. EL— K. 

When my parched Hps upon thy princely brow, 
Placid as tropic mead, as glacier cold, 

Imprinted a last farewell, where Vv'ert thou — 
Where didst thy soul its loveliness unfold? 

Can't be that in some undiscovered sphere 
The Muses sing their souls to thine in bliss ? 

Can't be that when I kiss thy forehead here 
A thousand angels echo there my kiss? 

What is this mask, where is the soul, O where. 
And from these eyes, O God, where went the 
light ? 

My silence cries within me in despair, 

My reason's sinking in this sea of Night. 

Esau, I am beside thee now alone, 

I dare not weep, I dare not even breathe ; 

But throug"h the stillness something hither blown 
Makes of thine amber locks a golden wreath. 

Life flutters in thy hair as in mine eyes; 

Death can not choke the breeze that whispers 
there 
A word of hope ; beneath my breath will rise 

A hair with God eternity to share 

The noon and eve of Life thou didst not see, 
But in its Dawn thou didst anticipate 

What jealous Night would not permit to be. 
What pain and suffering never could abate. 

Shall I strew on thee faded blossoms. Brother, 
Or fiery buds consumed by their own flame, 

Or myrrh and myrtle from our Mountain-mother, 
Or golden rods that whispered oft thy name? 

57 



Or, at the shrine of Liberty and Love, 
Where thou didst worship ardently and die, 

Shall I now join the gods come from above 
With thy sweet songs this shrine to beautify? 

Ye sapling-pines of star-kissed Lebanon, 
Ye cedars laden with a wealth of years, 

Send with the mist of dawn and the rising sun 
Your garlands, and your incense, and your 
tears. 



58 



TO ABU'L-ALA 

In thy melancholy's pensive Fancy 

Wisdom rolled its beauteons stars and moons, 
Just as in my riotings of pleasure 

Thy lone midnights roll into my noons. 

Abu'1-Ala, in thy glorious darkness 

Didst thou not remember imborn me? 

In thy journey to the farthest planets 
Didst thou not a burdened shadow see? 

Ay, behind the portals of Saturnus 
Secretly the cup to thee I passed ; 

Long, long after this cup thou returnest 
Filled with gems of fancy and recast. 

In thy Prison a thousand Yamen weapons 
Thou didst forge for the oppressed and weak : 

In my attic a thousand Beauty roses 
I pluck for thee from a Yankee cheek. 



59 



27 1905 



